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sixteen
now, i made it awkward
why did you let me do it?
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The lecture hall buzzes with the low hum of student chatter, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside your mind. You sit near the front, desperately trying to focus on the professor's droning voice, but all you can think about is last night. The memory of Bakugo's lips on yours, the heat of his touch, the intensity of the moment—it all plays on a relentless loop in your head.
Your heart pounds with a mix of anxiety and anticipation as you glance at the door, waiting for him to arrive. When Bakugo finally walks in, his presence is electric, sending a jolt through you. He meets your gaze for a split second before quickly looking away, his jaw clenched. The awkward tension between you is almost palpable, a tangible barrier that wasn't there before.
As the lecture continues, the professor's words blur into an incomprehensible murmur. You steal glances at him, noting the way his fingers drum restlessly on the desk, the furrow in his brow. He's equally distracted, and you wonder if he's as tormented by last night's events as you are.
When the class shifts to group discussion, the awkwardness amplifies. Your usual playful banter with Bakugo is replaced with stilted conversation and forced smiles. Every word feels heavy, laden with unspoken questions and unresolved tension. Your friends shoot curious glances your way, sensing the strange vibe but wisely keeping their questions to themselves.
Finally, the lecture ends. As you gather your things, your movements are slow, deliberate, stalling the inevitable confrontation. Bakugo approaches, his footsteps hesitant. The air between you crackles with unspoken words, the silence louder than any argument.
"Hey," he says, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. The single word hangs in the air, a fragile bridge between you. You nod, swallowing hard, and the two of you walk out of the lecture hall together, an invisible wall of awkwardness accompanying every step.
Outside, the campus is bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon. You walk in silence for a few minutes, the tension growing thicker with each passing second. Finally, Bakugo stops, running a hand through his hair, his eyes dark with conflict.
